


Baker Street Bliss

by Asexuallaw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, A Bit Not Good, Chip and pen machine, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, Dorks in Love, Gay, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7054099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asexuallaw/pseuds/Asexuallaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes back home from another stressful shopping fiasco and Sherlock knows just what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baker Street Bliss

The violin feels heavy on his shoulders, though almost weightless as a feather. There is no point for it at the moment; no music interests him. It is replaced by the relaxing bustle of city life outside. London, a stew of domestication and normality.

Sherlock turned over in the comfort of his chair, white sheet pooling around his ankles and hanging off his shoulders. He looked in front of him, at the emptiness, and frowned. How long had he been alone? 

Downstairs. The front door opening. Sherlock looked up, footsteps on the stairs. Plastic crinkling. Groceries. John. The detective stood up and put the violin back on its stand, then lightly made his way to the door.

“John-”

“Thanks for the help, Sherlock, I can manage.”

“Of course you can,” Sherlock smirked, following John closely into the kitchen. “You're my big strong army doctor. You can manage anything.”

“Not anything,” John corrected, setting the bags down.

“You manage me,” Sherlock said, his smile softening as he wrapped his arms around John's waist and put his chin on the shorters shoulder. John chuckled and turned around, grabbing Sherlock and pulling him closer.

“It's my job to manage you. Sherlock's manager, only one in the world. I guess you could say I invented the job.”

“Oh that's cheeky, John. Very, very cheeky,” Sherlock leaned down and pressed his lips to John's, though only for a bit, and pulled away, examining the bags. “Did you get milk?”

John sighed. “No.”

“What, why? Another row with the machine?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” John walked passed him and into the living room, where he sat in his chair and grabbed the paper that was a week old. “Damn thing didn't recognize milk as an item, but of course your bloody nicotine patches rung up.”

Sherlock glanced at one of the bags and saw the small writing of a box of his cigarette substitutes, and grinned. He went and opened the refrigerator door, pushed aside the dismembered foot of a woman named Clara, and grabbed the jug of milk. There was enough for one cup of tea. Sherlock closed the fridge and got out tea bags, started the kettle, and grabbed a mug. 

“Overall bad day,” he called, drying the mug with a partially clean dish towel.

“Uh, not until I got to Tesco's. Work was okay, not too many people who thought they were dying,” John answered. He turned one of the pages over; Sherlock observed he was reading the advertisements for jewelry stores. What for?

He decided to ignore it to make John a cup of tea. The dirty dishes went in the sink, the tea bag went in the mug, and the empty jug went in the trash bin. Sherlock held the mug by the handle and went up behind John, and leaned his arms over the blonds head. 

“Lucky for you, we had just enough milk left for one cup,”

“Ah, lucky for me,” John agreed, taking the mug and leaning up to give Sherlock a light peck on the cheek. The detective returned the favor and found himself in his own chair, facing John.

The emptiness gone.

“Saw what you were looking at in the papers,” Sherlock piped, leaning forward in his seat, purposefully exposing his collar bones to give John a good view. The doctor licked his lips. “The jewelry store ads, I mean. Why would John Watson be looking at advertisements for jewelry stores?”

John grinned, closing the paper and taking a sip of his tea. “Why indeed.”


End file.
